Dance Along the Edge - Finally
Riverhold Keep - Milora's Chamber ---- ::Long, slim biinwood windows overlook the gardens below, blossoming purple in the warm months and glittering white during the winter. This rather unevenly-shaped room looks into the castle rather than out and, with only a slightly craned neck, one can see the tournament grounds not far off. Fixed with black iron shutters, hammered thin and cut diagonally to shield the room from cold nights and days, these windows, when opened, are significantly wider than those which face the outside of the castle; as such, a delicately carved biinwood chair is placed neatly by one of them for the comfort of the room's owner. ::''Snow white thread is used in the embroidery of nearly everything in the room, as well as various shades of gray and black - stylized floral patterns cover the topmost of three soft comforters on the wide, soft biinwood bed, and silvery tassles line some silk cushions there. By no means is the room heavily furnished, however elegantly - the rug on the floor is also shimmery silver and white, and the four tapestries on the wall reflect this same theme. A biinwood desk opposite the bed, upon which sits a small, neat collection of leatherbound books, is directly below a biinwood longbow which has been mounted at an angle on the wall. ---- Tea has come and gone; now, a rather frugal supper has been composed. Now strong enough to ascend and descend stairs on her own, Milora Lomasa has been hired on as a sort of undermaid, employed to perform small tasks and supervise the guest chambers-turned-sickrooms. Now, pale, rather thin and quite grave, but apparently uninjured, Milora backs into the room carrying a large tray of smaller, covered dishes. "Mistress Birch," she says in a low voice, moving to place this meal on her desk, "Are you awake?" The aura of the room heralds the Mikin before her actual presence. Though it is an aura of hushed bluish-white, not unlike the ethereal glow of the Light but a great deal more... blue. What brings about this figure is that of a blonde woman in half-plate and it is the armor itself that brings its own light. The hair of the woman worn drawn back with a simple leather thong and a grave expression to her own fair features. Celeste lingers in the doorway, drinking up the empty beds... save for one. "Seems that my courier was wrong in their news," she notes in the calm serenity of one discussing the weather. Ashlynn takes a slightly deeper breath than before at the nearby disturbance, eyes flickering open when her name is called. "M'lady," she greets, voice smudged with residual sleep, difficult to shake off in her current state, though the strange glow helps to further draw her attention into the waking world with a blink of bemusement. Milora turns her face toward the door: what she sees her appears to displease her, because her eyebrows furrow. However, she directs her attention away and gives a heavy breath, rolling up the long sleeves of her tunic to her elbows. "Will you take some soup, Mistress Birch? You have not been displaying as healthy an appetite as I would wish." Celeste seems content to remain close to the door, watching the reclining woman. She reaches up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. "Is this all that remain injured, Lady Arbiter?" Studious, is the woman's tone, not betraying any emotion in the simple question. "If not, then I shall return to the infirmary." Ashlynn swallows dryly at the mention of food; in truth, looking not too happy with the thought of having to ingest something and keep it down. A wary glance is paid the visiting Mikin, before she returns her regard to Milora with a not-quite successful smile. "I should try, I suppose?" "My cousin is the luckiest of the three of us. I wish that I were able to sleep so soundly and deeply without fearing that I may never wake up. How was /your/ sleep, Mistress?" Milora doesn't attempt cheer, instead uncovering one of the trays to reveal a large bowl of thick soup and bringing it solemnly to Ashlynn's side. "Absolutely. You will never heal if you do not eat." Finally, her attention in turned toward Celeste. "We are not volleying for your attention, Celeste Mikin. Riverhold is currently housing six wounded nobles, to my knowledge, and the barracks have been abused for the use of the wounded freelanders. I think you will find, however, that our resources are more than adequate." "Then I shall leave you to tend to your wounded, and return to help Master Songbird." Celeste states calmly, she dips her head towards Ashlynn. "Light keep you, mistress, and may you heal quickly." She pivots on her heel, shaking her head. Her next words are cast low for the room, but carry easily over the empty sickbeds. "Pride keeps people from asking for help when they need it, Lady Arbiter. You should no be so quick to turn away one who wishes to help...but I abide by your wishes in your home." And with that she turns to leave. "Managed some," is all Ashlynn admits with a wry quirk of her mouth, the expression fading quickly at the exchange between the other two women. A wary nod is returned to Celeste, hesitating at uncomfortable air that has descended, before grimacing and beginning the arduous process of propping herself to a position to eat as a distraction. Momentarily laying a hand on Ashlynn's head, Milora turns after the woman moving to depart. "I have written my report concerning the fate of Night's Edge. Would you like to hear it while you are here, or shall I file it without another word on the matter?" Her tone is flat as she returns to the desk. "Mistress, would you like me to bring you some milk?" A container of said liquid is seized from the tray. "If you wish to share the matter here," replies Celeste calmly. "Though it would seem that we were never able to speak privately, as per your request." Hunched, head bowed, it is a moment before Ashlynn gathers herself after the effort of sitting up to answer, "Thank you, M'lady, but if you have business," she glances toward Celeste, "I think I can manage some of the soup on my own first." "That no longer matters to me," comes the hollow reply. Milora rolls her eyes upward toward the longbow on her wall. "Shall we refrain from upsetting the invalid further, Celeste Mikin? Into the corridor, if you please. I will return shortly, Mistress." That said, Milora moves toward the door. '''Riverhold Keep - Residence Tower' ---- ::''The gray stone stairs terminate in the uppermost level of a high tower overlooking the grounds of Riverhold Keep and the surrounding land, with the jade ribbon of the Fastheld River flowing past to the south. A series of earth-toned tapestries line the walls of this circular antechamber, which has doors leading into the residential quarters of the keep's inhabitants. ---- "Originally I had wanted to work with you to turn Night's Edge into a sanctuary recognized by Imperial Law, a place of study and refuge," Milora states softly, closing the door behind her. "I have received so much opposition while there, however, and have observed your inmates so preoccupied with petty topics and so unused to discipline that I have given up the idea entirely. I am sick of all of you. In that light, and because you swear to adhere to Imperial tenets, and because you are too entirely without direction or organization to be perceived as any kind of threat, you may continue as you have done. I must insist, however, that you no longer refer to yourself as a priest or to your residence as a chapel, in accordance to the law." Milora looks up at Celeste, ill and exhausted. "Interestingly enough, Lady Arbiter. Such a title became worthless when others put more stock in its importance than myself or those that find their way to my doorstep. Even in the Order, it seems that such a title cannot be decided, and perhaps that is for the better. We do not need to fall into the trappings of the past so easily. But a scholar, that I have always been and continue to be," Celeste quirks a smile to Milora, lowering into a quick bow. "Light guide your steps, Lady Arbiter. For your position, I do not envy." "I am far too tired to continue to dance with you in this way," Milora says, returning Celeste's smile patiently. She continues, her tone enduring and betraying her tired state: "I do know of a very excellent dance hall, however, should you wish to choose a new partner." She moves to the door of her chamber, adding as an afterthought: "A parting word: think to excess on these Black Wildlings if you must, Celeste Mikin. Hopefully such deliberation will put some of your tired ideas to rest." With that, she forces the portal to yawn and admits herself once more into the makeshift infirmary. ---- Return to Season 6 (2007) Category:Logs